Sex in the South

While reading Jack's post this afternoon after work I became aroused. So wet with memories that I needed him inside me right now more than anything. Alone, I moved my hand down past the waistband of my jeans, rubbing my clit from outside my underwear before moving inside. I want him. No quick kiss on the cheek and murmurs of affection, I want his eyes blazing gold from pain and anger at that edge of control and a deep gutteral moan pulled from him as he climaxs violently inside me. I need him to growl 'I love you' in my ear and bite down on my neck hard enough that I thrash and contort myself around him to escape, all the while causing even more blissful friction and muscle contractions around his cock inside me. I need.

Alone and frustrated I masturbated in the way only done when no one's watching. No slow seductive stroking of yourself while making eye contact with your lover. I threw my head down in a pillow, unable to see, barely able to breath and furiously stroked my clit, thrusting two fingers inside me. As I bucked against my fist I thought of him hard against his jeans pinning me between his erection and the kitchen counter. Of the warm smooth taste of his cock against my tongue as I blew him in the living room. Of the way his eyes widen and partly roll back when he cums.

As I neared completion there were spots of red in my vision. Gasping for air and thighs still shuddering with the aftershocks of my orgasm I curled in bed and fell asleep.